Far from the caverns of Patala Lok, where Rudra honed his body, mind, and spirit under Asurguru Shukracharya's rigorous tutelage, Magadha thrived under Bahubali's just and vigilant rule.
The kingdom's prosperity shone like a beacon in Aryavrat—its markets overflowed with silks and spices, its gurukuls echoed with the chants of diverse scholars, and its armories forged weapons of unparalleled strength.
On this bright morning in Rajgir, Bahubali sat in the grand sabha hall, its marble pillars adorned with carvings of Shiva's trishul. Clad in a gold-embroidered dhoti, his rudraksha mala resting against his chest, he presided over a meeting with his ministers, each seated on cushioned mats, scrolls and palm leaves spread before them.
The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood from a nearby havan, and sunlight streamed through latticed windows, casting intricate patterns on the floor.
Bahubali's gaze was steady, his presence commanding yet approachable, as he invited the first report.
Minister Sahadeva, his gray beard neatly trimmed, rose with a scroll in hand. "Maharaj, the Gangetic plains yield a bountiful harvest this season—rice and wheat stores overflow, enough to feed Magadha for two years. New irrigation channels, built per your decree, have doubled the yield in eastern villages. The farmers sing your praises, calling you the 'Giver of Plenty.'" He bowed, presenting a tablet etched with yield figures.
Bahubali nodded, his voice calm but resolute. "Well done, Sahadeva. Ensure surplus grain reaches the needy—open more granaries in remote hamlets. No child or elder should sleep hungry in Magadha." Sahadeva bowed again, noting the order, his eyes reflecting pride in his king's compassion.
Next, Minister Amritabushan, overseer of education, spoke, his voice clear. "Maharaj, your vision for gurukuls flourishes. Over fifty new schools now teach children of all varnas—brahmins, kshatriyas, vaishyas, and shudras—side by side. The syllabus includes the Vedas, all types of crafts and trade, there is also training in weapons, and now, as you instructed, basic healing arts." he smiled, handing Bahubali a palm leaf inscribed with a child's shlokas.
Bahubali's lips curved slightly. "Knowledge is dharma's root, Amrita. Ensure teachers are rewarded, and let no child be turned away, regardless of birth. Send scholars to train village teachers—Magadha's light must reach every corner." Amrita nodded, her resolve mirroring her king's.
The final minister, Senapati Vikram, reported on the military. "Maharaj, our armories have crafted a thousand new swords and shields, infused with alloys from the eastern mines, as per your design. The Nyay Rakshak's training grounds expand, and our spies report no immediate threats to our borders. Your reforms make Magadha's army unmatched in Aryavrat." He presented a polished dagger as a sample, its hilt carved with a lotus.
Bahubali examined the blade, his voice firm. "Strength serves peace, Vikram. Keep the army vigilant but never aggressive. And ensure the forges aid farmers with tools as well." Vikram bowed, his loyalty unwavering. "The people's trust is our true wealth," Bahubali concluded. "Dharma thrives only when all flourish." The ministers bowed, their loyalty reaffirmed, as the sabha concluded.
After a modest lunch of saffron rice, dal, and fresh fruits in the palace's airy dining hall, Bahubali made his way to a secluded chamber, its walls draped in dark silk to conceal its purpose. Here, he met with the leaders of the Nyay Rakshak, cloaked in plain robes, their faces shadowed to protect their identities.
One by one, they reported on their missions across Aryavrat: a corrupt merchant exposed in Chedi, a cruel landlord humbled in Kosala, an unjust tax collector ousted in Vidharba. Bahubali listened, his eyes sharp, nodding as each report confirmed the Rakshak's silent vigilance.
The final Nyay Rakshak, a tall figure with a voice like tempered steel, stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Maharaj, we bring grave news from the Virat kingdom. Keechak, their commander-in-chief, commits atrocities unchecked—extorting villagers, harassing the innocent, and defying dharma. We submitted proof of his crimes to King Virata's sabha, as per your command, but the king, fearing Keechak's might, has failed to act. Keechak's strength is formidable, and our warriors, though skilled, cannot confront him without risking exposure."
Bahubali's jaw tightened, his gaze darkening like a storm over Kailash. Keechak's name was known across Aryavrat—a warrior of immense power but a heart corrupted by arrogance. "Keechak's tyranny mocks dharma," Bahubali said, his voice steady but laced with resolve. "You've done well to bring this to me. Leave Keechak to my hand—I will deal with him personally. For now, cease any action against him. Provide me with surveillance reports—his movements, his allies, his habits. The Nyay Rakshak's strength lies in precision, not haste. Understood?"
The Rakshak leader bowed, his voice firm. "As you command, Maharaj. We will watch Keechak and report every detail to you."
Bahubali nodded, his mind already strategizing. "Good. Let no innocent suffer under his shadow while we prepare. Magadha's justice will reach Virat in time."
With a final gesture, Bahubali dismissed the meeting, the Nyay Rakshak vanishing into the palace's secret passages like specters.
Alone, he stood by a window overlooking Rajgir's bustling streets, his thoughts heavy. Keechak's might was a challenge, but Bahubali's heart burned with fire—dharma would prevail, as it always had under his reign.
Meanwhile, in Patala, Rudra trained relentlessly, unaware of the storm brewing in Aryavrat, his young heart set on mastering the Asurguru's teachings, his rudraksha a constant reminder of the dharma he would one day uphold alongside his father.